Zeal

She advised him of necessity to plan, her voice droning on slightly in an effort for him to realise… what? That he might be in danger? He chuckled. This continent had nothing to offer in terms of any real danger as far as he could see. Everyone seemed so giving, and so happy about it. He considered that he might have been able to simply ask for an apple and receive one, if he were so inclined. She even went as far as to imply that it was more dangerous for the people with “flexible morals”. He chuckled to himself out loud at that thought, stopping himself before she thought it was at her. When he refocused on what she was saying, she had finished. "Please, take it." She continued preening, for some reason drawing his attention to her wings as if to remind them they were strong. His doubt grew even less in his mind. What insecurity. She flicked her hair in a way that beautiful mares are prone to do (for what reason he could not aspire to know), and looked upon it curiously. "Thank you" she said, her voice becoming slightly less demonic. As he watched the sky agitatedly, she coughed politely, startling him slightly. He had forgotten she was there in the few seconds since she had taken the picture, because she was neither his problem anymore and as always, he remains rather absent-minded. "Are you frightened of something?" she asked, her voice taking on a small note of worry. She surprised him for the second time that day. He was reminded of his mother, alternately caring and scathingly humorous with no apparent transition. He got worried when he couldn't predict the actions of anypony. “I… ah…” he started, not quite sure why he owed this one an explanation. “You could say I have a somewhat vulnerable complexion.” He laughed to himself. Understatement always did amuse him. He stopped himself though, for he really did need to get inside somewhere. “I should be going.” He still looked worriedly at the sky, the shaft of light now spreading. It was clearing up. He had a sudden thought. Perhaps he'd simply take the mare's cloak from the alley?

I have some critically important work that must be attended to between now and mid November. Thank you for your understanding.

He watched her give off all sorts of body language at his words. A slight twitch, tail flicks, and the much less subtle handling of the sword. He was terrible, he was ready to admit, at making friends in this new land. Everyone seemed to bizarrely rigid and unmovable in their convictions, so narrow-minded and blunt. This was a simple land, he thought to himself as the mare slowly opened her wings and flapped them to dry herself off. He eyed the sword, now in plain sight. It seemed at odds with the feeling of this town and this land. He hadn't seen a character of questionable intent since he arrived, and docks were the home of such creatures. Yet here this mare was with a blade. It confused him to no end. She got to her feet steadily, regaining the pose that he once saw. "I did not pay the apple for your sake."she said, her voice minute. He narrowed his eyes. "If not for my sake, then whom?" Sketch asked, his eyes narrowing at her presumption that he cared for her reasons, yet not seeking to antagonise her further. She whirled around, her familiar icy gaze lessening to an encouraging degree as she saw the drawing he had completed. A small sense of pride kindled in him as he saw that she liked it. At least ponies here had some sense. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and a few drops of water landed on the page. "I paid for the fruit because it was the right thing to do. Not for pity, not for you, but for the salespony." she said, gazing once again at his drawing. "Have you even planned on what to do here, or where to stay?" she inquired out of the blue. He blinked, looking as confused as she was. Such a phrase seemed almost an invitation to him. He chose his words with caution. She had shown that she had some depth beyond random outbursts of anger, but she was still very far from pleased with him. "No, I have not any idea nor place to rest." Sketch said, his eyes becoming slightly softer. His body language seemed to suggest he was not unpleased with this fact, and he was in fact ecstatic at saying something with such savage individuality. He shook his head as she just did. That was unimportant, he should probably be able to survive here. He extended the picture once more. "Please, take it." He said, a slight pleading tone in his voice, yet one encouraging immediacy. Would she act to harm him, in a place like this? If she did not take it, he was not sure what he would do. He needed to solve this imbalance and leave at once. He had noticed a small break in the cloud cover that had appeared, a shaft of sunlight falling as if a spear from heaven, the luminescence not half as beautiful as it was worrying. He craned his neck upwards, judging wind speed and direction with a look of extreme concern. There was no below deck for him to retreat to here.

The mare departed her spot, retreating out of his view. He kept that first, initial glimpse of her in his mind, drawing from that without thinking, his tool slashing across the page in sharp, violent lines. Heedless of the pony swimming now, he finished the drawing as she was retreating from the waterline to sit there once again. He looked at it after he drew it as if it had suddenly appeared in his hands. It was the mare, standing defiantly against the morning sun. (It was not present currently, however it was in his drawing) Her eyes were riveted on the horizon. The thick angular lines surrounding her grew less distinct the further away, giving an incredible focus to her simple stance. It gave the figure in his drawing seemingly unassailable power, as if the world had stopped simply to look at her. He liked it, but it was more emotional than he had intended. His fondness for buildings and structure showed, and one could not help but think of bastions and mighty walls simply when witnessing the thing. It was almost a romantic image, he thought, chuckling to himself. Unsure of himself now, he glanced up and stifled a chuckle. He noticed that Silversword had gotten out of the water, having apparently chosen to go for a swim, and while she had the same stance, she was soaked. It was so contrasting to his picture that he almost laughed out loud. Putting on his poker face, he trotted up to her. She had obviously already noticed him and chosen to ignore him. He held out the picture, smiling slightly. “I don’t know how much that was worth, but this is for you.” He says, his eyes focused on the back of her head. “I hope this is worth it, for I will not accept charity.”

Здравствуйте! As always, have nice day!

Sketch watched the anger grow in the ponies’ eyes with a grin, the fire seeming to blaze into an inferno and then all at once go out. She looked almost depressed. A small pang of regret grew in his breast, before all at once the mare delivered an impressive monologue, her voice losing its sense of self-righteousness. There was one sentence he both understood and took in with interest. “I or one of the others in cloaks will help you.” She said, her voice maintaining its deadened tone. He blinked. All this time, she had been someone that was here simply to help him? He shook his head in wonder as she walked away, missing what she muttered. She must have some strong sense of right and wrong that he had not witnessed, to depart from paid work simply to reprimand a simple immigrant for stealing some as base as a piece of fruit. He watched as she paid the man, his confusion growing and his sense of ecstasy dwindling. Perhaps he had been too harsh? He was used to the company of hardened Earth ponies, his intellectual games always a wave against a mighty rock. He wondered then, if he had driven away one who might help him gain his hooves here in this land. Scratching his nose absently, he watched her as she stood on the waterfront, her sea-green hair against the sea in the morning light a pretty sight indeed. A thought struck him, and he stood there for a second, smiling. Trotting over to the corner of the alley he entered on the waterfront side, he sat and drew with a piece of charcoal he had “salvaged” from the ship on his small book. His brow furrowed in concentration, and his gaze flicked up towards the mare every so often, making small erasures and corrections as time went by. He looked up once more to see her still alone on the waterfront, he regal bearing alienating her, and the benefit of the cloak now discarded in the alley behind him.

He saw that the mare noticed his glance, an almost imperceptible flicker of worry touching her face. It seems she was a weak flyer. While the knowledge might be useful, he had no wish to antagonise her and pretended not to notice. She lashed the older stallion with a retort, lecturing him on the rights and morals he must follow. A few words escaped him, their meaning lost amongst the mare's anger, but he caught her tone to mean that she knew better than he. She annoyed him for the first time, a slight flicker of irritation crossing his face. When she asked him for his name none too subtly, his smile returned again. Her commanding tone was so amusing, for she know so much yet so little. "Put your hoof out," she demanded, popping the fruit into her mouth. He looked on at the fruit, now having lost all interest in the thing itself and wondering what she intended. “My name is my own, Silversword” he said with no small joy, having gained a small victory over her. He amended himself. “Perhaps this land has workings that differ from my own,” he said politely, ignoring her inflammatory tone. “Yet I do not, nor will not exist under any rules you care to name.” Whatever she was talking about, she seemed to believe it, but there was no reason for him to do what he was told by this mare. He gave flight a second thought, her anger seemingly rising still despite his attempted placation. The fact that she hadn't attempted to cut him down on the spot meant things either worked differently here, or she was not in authority to do so. Either one gave him a good chance.

The mare’s eyes roamed over him, her expressions flickering between polar opposites in a way that either indicated a scatterbrain or intent to confuse. He smiled, either way, it pleased him. She placed the fruit in her tail, and glanced to his flank, her look of annoyance replaced by a look of sudden wonder. This was the sole thing he could not understand. What had she seen that was so important to her? He broke into a grin as she retreated as he stepped forward, holding his ground as she embarrassingly realised her mistake and stepped forward two to compensate. "What's your name, miss?" Sketch asked, his gaze penetrating. Her smile was icy, seeming to direct all the known dangers in the world solely to him, and he felt a tiny flicker of fear, quickly extinguished. What had he to fear from her? "Silversword” she replied, her gaze still piercing. He narrowed his eyes, meeting the stare. What a curious name for a pony, he thought to himself. Flicking his gaze downwards, he noticed a long, slender object stretching from the mare’s shoulder to tail, and admonished himself for not noticing it sooner. As he returned the gaze once more, a small gust of wind rippled through the alley, revealing a glimpse of not only a sword, but furled wings as well. He almost laughed. He had been uncharacteristically unobservant. How had he missed something like that? She held herself like no Pegasus he had ever seen before, and he began to notice things. Her legs, at first seeming elegant and delicate, now seeming built for manoeuvrability and finesse. Her hair was much longer than average, her wings, hidden and furled, her talent was combat? Perhaps she was a weak flyer, he thought to himself once more. A tussle had best be avoided if he could manage it. She might be a difficult foe. He sighed deeply. "I apologise for taking the fruit, for you see, I am new to this country and have not any money." he said, his voice dropping an octave and taking a step back, a more lyrical tone returning to his voice.

A small growl rose in the small one's throat, and Sketch stifled a giggle. It was akin to the rumble of a dog, he thought, and redoubled his efforts as he conceived the notion. "A Destrier..." she says, yet the word had no meaning to him whatsoever. He enjoyed idly the effect of his words on her, as he saw her anger rising steadily and predictably. "Pet.." she repeated, her voice dropping in volume suddenly. Sketch flicked his gaze to her. Had he gone too far? All of a sudden she lashed out, her mouth speeding towards his. Ordinarily, he could have avoided such a thing, yet he was quite taken aback as she grabbed the fruit bodily out his mouth with hers. He flushed slightly with embarrassment and surprise. Somehow she managed to speak around it, the fruit bobbing slightly with every syllable in a most amusing way, and the smile came back to his face. He considered his options. He really didn't care about the fruit. He'd eaten plenty on the boat, and it was more for later than anything. He judged he could easily run away from this young mare if need be, or he could probably talk his way out of this. A question popped up in his mind, however. He could not explain to himself why he had to know, but he asked anyway. This one had more fire then most of the ones he knew. "What's your name, miss?" he said, taking a step closer to her and looking straight into her eyes without reproach.

He hears a slight sound behind him and without looking back, knows he is being followed. The cobblestone paths make it very difficult to move without making a sound, especially for ponies. Listening closely, he judges that the follower isn’t trying to match his footsteps, so his little admirer is not trying to be subtle, which relaxes him for a moment. He “stumbles” a touch, flicking his gaze backwards to see an indignant pony trotting up behind him with blazing orange eyes. His own eyes widen a touch on seeing the brilliant colour and determination. He quite liked it. “Excuse me”, the pony said in a small voice. He smiled, turning around. It was a mare’s voice, so he wasn't worried. “…Yes?” Sketch said petulantly, smiling winningly. "I believe you have taken something that does not belong to you." Sketch blinked. This one must’ve had sharp eyes to notice such a thing. He decided to try the standard tack. “Who are you, some sort of law enforcement?” He says, smiling condescendingly, trotting in a small circle around her. “No, you’re too pretty for that” he notes, observing her slender figure and styled mane , which was covered mostly by a cloak of pale blue that seemed to be worn to accentuate her silvery coat. Despite the fire in her eyes, there isn’t another aspect of her that he can detect strength, but simple eyes can mean a lot. He stops after a couple of orbits. “Are we lost, my pet?” he asks, munching now on the fruit in question.